Weather Patterns
by Angelbake
Summary: Colony Weather Patterns. That's how the end of a non-relationship began. Duo. Hilde. Adult language.


A.N.  I know, I know.  Where the hell have I been?  And this is what I come back with?  It's not necessarily a happy piece and I have no explanations for it at all.  Asphyxiation will be coming next week or so (and I'll be an active FF.net member again, if ever I was one), once the excitement surrounding graduation (yay me) dies down and I'm left with the need to escape my jobless post-college life through fannnntassssy!  Bulls-Eye (my Catherine story) is on hiatus.  Hmm, I wrote this in about 25 minutes, it demanded to be seen – nevermind I have a portfolio, two notebooks, and two projects due, like, yesterday.  Anyway, back to the fic, not too sure about the characterizations, I may have to take this down and turn it into an original ficlet.  Nevertheless . . . 

+++

"You know what's stupid?"

Just like that.  That's how the end began.  It was so random, that Duo Maxwell couldn't possibly foresee where it would lead.

"Huh?"

"Stupid.  Really, really stupid?  Colony weather patterns."  She slammed the pot she'd been cleaning into the sink.  "Do they think we're fucking morons?  'Oh, we'll just simulate Earth's natural patterns as best we can and the children will be able to grow up healthy and normal!'  Pah!"

"Um?  Hilde?"  He didn't move from his seat on the couch, but swiveled his head to watch her pace around the kitchen.

            "_Simulations,_" she pronounced slowly, as though it was the winning word in a nationals spelling bee.  "So, we get beautiful sunny _heat lamp_ days, and breezy nights that would make the colonies an ideal vacation spot."  She paused here to look back at Duo over her shoulder.  "Only, you know, except we're in the middle of buttfuck nowhere space!"

            He wanted to interject.  He wanted to say it wasn't buttfuck nowhere space.  They were clearly marked on maps.  LaGrange Point 2, anyone?  She didn't give him a chance, though.  It was almost a soliloquy; He wasn't sure he existed to her at the moment.

            "Here's the stupid part: We also get simulated rain and snow and, and . . . and fucking storms for fuck's sakes!  Why?" she cried.  "So some loser hippie can feel validated by growing a stupid garden outside her house that's 'nutured by heaven's own tears'?" she mimicked.  "And don't tell me it's necessary for our food resources.  They can put that shit in a biodome that's maintained way better than a colony and probably have better health benefits in the long run.  We're a fucking colony!  We never have to see a gray day ever!  And it's just so stupid, that I have to turn on my TV or read the paper and hear the, ha!, meteorologist tell me that tomorrow it's going to hail in the afternoon.  And you know he's telling the truth, because that's when the fucking _hail machine_ is scheduled to run, and they'll be damned if some genius were to say, 'You know what?  Hail?  Not so necessary, really, for living.  Fuck it, lets make it summer all year long.'  And it's just a big cycle.  I mean, sure it's set on randomized, so you can't truly say we had the exact same pattern of weather last year, but it's the same.  It's redundant and it's never going to change and it's fucked up and stupid."

            He wondered how long she'd been thinking about this while she washed dishes.  The words were flowing without pause for deliberation.  She was being more vulgar than expected – and that little surprise had really thrown him for a loop when he'd first discovered it during sex.  It also turned him on.  Oh yeah.

            "But we as citizens don't do anything about it," she continued.  He blinked, trying to focus on her words again and not the possibility of which underwear she was wearing.  It wasn't as though she went on a tirade every Tuesday night or anything, he just couldn't follow her and he didn't know what sprang the sudden rant.

            "We just plan our days accordingly to the set up weather for the week and take it.  We take it like punkass bitches.  We don't demand our sunny days whenever the hell we want them and we don't complain about the fucking hail the way we ought to.  Sure, they give us the sun on holidays and parades and isn't that so fucking nice?  But maybe we deserve the weather we want when we want it.  Or maybe we should just leave.  Just fucking jet off this floating rock."  Her erratic pacing had finally found its way over to the couch.  "The weather pattern sucks, the truth of simulations suck, and fucking hail sucks!"

            She stopped like a wind up toy reaching its end and stood over him.

            "What?" he asked, shoulders hitched in instinctual defense.  "Shit, Hilde, I think you lost me before you even started."

            Her expression didn't change and that was when he realized that throughout her spiel, she hadn't looked nearly as angry as she sounded.  She sat down beside him and reached a hand to his nape to bring him closer.  When all she did was kiss him, Duo relaxed.  This, he understood.  This, he could participate in.

            And she let him.  He unbuttoned and loosened her clothes, but she refused to take them off completely, dragging his hands inside to touch the skin he couldn't see.  She clung to him, lips reaching for his lips, hips rising for his hands, back arching off the couch.  Fucking fantastic, the way she came, the way she gave all.  He didn't even mind that the whole event had happened and he was still in his pants.  She released her death grip on his shoulders as she regulated her breathing, and then slumped against the couch.

            "Mmm," she moaned, obviously satisfied.  Her eyes still closed, she put her clothes back to rights.  When the final button was slipped through its hole, she sat up and away from him.

            "Hilde?"  Duo asked, bewildered.

            "Duo, I don't think I ever had you."  She stood up, a little wobbly in the knees, but he couldn't even take smug pleasure in that, she was acting so weird.  "You are a colony weather pattern and I'm leaving tomorrow."


End file.
